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What happened next is painful to recall.
You know how an alcoholic can start out as a casual drinker? She can be someone who has a couple drinks at a party, or with dinner, but it never really becomes a problem? But then, she gets divorced, or a relative dies, or she becomes ill, and she starts to drink more, to cope with the stress? Then, after more time goes by, she’s a full-fledged alcoholic, totally dependent on alcohol, unable to function without it?
Well, that’s what happened to me, only with credit cards, not alcohol. At first, I was pretty responsible. I didn’t have a plan, but what I was doing was justifiable. I was spending money on legitimate business expenses, and I was keeping up with the minimum payments on all my credit cards. It was no big deal; I was a small business owner, just starting out, and the credit cards helped get me through.
But trouble started brewing when I started to do things like charge furniture for my apartment on credit cards, or take myself and my friends out to eat (outside of work hours), charging the bills on credit cards. I justified this behavior, thinking, “I don’t have the money yet, but I will when my practice gets rolling.” I wasn’t in big trouble yet, but the slope was starting to get slippery.
Then, I got addicted to eBay. I’ve always been a big baseball fan, and I discovered I could get game-used baseball memorabilia on line. How great! Since I was a self-employed big-shot therapist, why shouldn’t I have cool memorabilia that made me feel good? It became a problem, because money I really should have been spending on groceries, or investing in the business, was getting spent on baseball memorabilia which I couldn’t really afford.
Then, about six months after I first started debting for my business, I started taking trips, and that’s when the problems really started. I attended a conference in California, with an old friend from high school. We had a great time, and I remember it fondly, but every cent I spent on that trip (over $1,000) went on credit cards. And I can’t even justify the trip as a real business expense, because I learned no marketable skills from it. It’s not like that $1,000 made me a better therapist with more earning power. The conference was on martial arts, and while I was teaching martial arts on the side, I wasn’t making any real money at it, so the conference didn’t really help my business.
I went on that trip because I wanted to, not because I needed to, and not because it was a good investment. I was beginning to learn that, with credit cards, I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. It was completely intoxicating. Looking back, I felt almost superhuman.
Describing his struggles with money and compulsive spending as a therapist in private practice, Jeffrey Kottler wrote, “I was working so hard, helping so many people, that I wanted to reward myself.”[i] I felt the same way. In fact, I saw no reason not to reward myself. I was 26 years old, and I was helping people. I was succeeding in a competitive market. I was The Man. As long as I stayed under my credit limit, I could reward myself as much as I wanted to; I was “good to go.”
But it began to get worse. I was now using my credit cards to eat out, buy baseball memorabilia on eBay, and purchase extravagant gifts for friends. I always picked up the tab, and it felt great. I never deprived myself of anything. Sure, I’d cry poor when it was time to go home to Boston to visit my parents, and manipulate them into buying my plane ticket. But when it came to day-to-day living, I was high on the hog. I went to visit my former girlfriend in Washington, D.C., and we lived it up for a week, with all the expenses going onto credit cards. In reality, I could barely afford to talk with her on a cell phone, let alone go visit her and whoop it up. But by then, the disease of debting had a hold of me, and I was powerless in its grip.
I continued this behavior for years, right into my marriage. I went on trips with my wife before we were married, all on credit cards, and charged nearly every date I took her on. I got a huge cash advance from two credit cards so I could afford to go on our honeymoon. I’m embarrassed to say that I even charged my tuxedo for our wedding day on the good ol’ American Express card.
So, this is how I started using credit cards, and went down, slowly but surely. First, it was under Andrew’s influence, to build the business. Then, it was to comfort myself and live high on the hog. Eventually, it was to impress others, and finally, it was just because I couldn’t stop. That’s the truth. That’s how I became a debtor. That’s how I landed in the trouble I’m in, facing lawsuits and tens of thousands of dollars in debt, even though it’s a year since I stopped debting. The worst part is, I have a family now, and they’re being pulled down right along with me.
I have to remember that it could be worse. At least I stopped debting. Thank God, I wandered into a seminar at a conference on helping clients with money problems. At the time, I didn’t know how bad my problems were, but when I saw how much of the material applied to me, I sought out the presenter and asked if he would take me on as his client. That was in July of 2005, and after working with him for a month and a half, I could no longer deny the depth and severity of my problem.
I cut up my credit cards on September 1, 2005. Enough was enough. I was about to become a father, and I knew I wanted a better life for myself and my family. I didn’t want to be bankrupt and destitute, as several of my relatives were. I decided to put a stop to it, and I’m glad I did.
The only problem is, a year later, I’m still cleaning up a lot of messes that my behavior caused. And it’s killing me. I feel depressed, frightened, and suicidal. I fight with my wife over money, and feel I’m a disappointment to her. I consider bankruptcy constantly. I’ve been advised that it’s not the best option for someone in my situation, because I’m still young and can theoretically fight my way out of this mess. But I can’t stand this much longer.
The bottom line is that I'm completely overwhelmed. I’ve always been someone who prided himself on being in control. Credit cards helped me feel I was in control, even when I was way out of control. They made me feel invulnerable. I thought the rules didn’t apply to me. Whether I had money in the bank or not, I could do whatever I wanted, as long as I hadn’t reached my credit limits.
I was literally addicted to that feeling of invulnerability, the ability to do what I wanted to, when I wanted to do it. I was able to hide the truth, and no one ever questioned it. No one ever knew just how deep in debt I was, how little cash I actually had, or how deeply I was drowning in debt. I was completely anonymous in my addiction, because this addiction is so easy to hide.
And now, I can’t hide it any more. I’m embarrassed, and ashamed. I’m sitting up at night, typing at this computer, because I have no one else to talk to. Sure, my wife, family and friends try to support me, as best they can. But I’m so ashamed, and I feel so hopeless, that it’s become hard to even share how I’m feeling. I feel so guilty, because this is not the life I wanted for myself, my wife, or my son. I worry that I’m a disappointment to my father, stepmother, and friends. I worry that, if my clients knew what a mess my financial and emotional life is, they wouldn't want to work with me anymore.
I worry that my marriage will not survive this stress. I worry that my son will grow up resenting me. I worry I’ll never get out of debt, and things will just get worse and worse. I worry that I’ll end up bankrupt and alone. I try to tell myself it can only get better. I try to tell myself that I’m turning the train around, and that it just takes time. But sometimes I have very little faith, and feel like I’m running out of time to make things right. This is one of those times.
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